


sword in the stone

by detrevniwrit



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:26:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4567899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detrevniwrit/pseuds/detrevniwrit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post EoS: Rodimus struggles to come to terms with Drift's return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sword in the stone

**Author's Note:**

> For a friend! Drift is referred to by 'they' pronouns, Rodimus by 'he' pronouns.

_DEE DEE DEE!_

Rodimus cursed as his hands lost their tenuous grip on the short sword for what seemed to be the fifth time that cycle, letting it clatter onto the ground with a grimace. He’d been trying to practice sword forms when the commlink had started its ominous beeping.

Emphasis, trying. Whatever few skills Rodimus had learned from his previous second in command had rusted in the bucket in Drift’s absence. His form was stiff, his pedes always feeling out of place; nothing was right. Granted he hadn’t done much better when he’d still had a teacher---but Drift had indulged him, patiently pushing on his elbows, hooking a pede back into the correct position. Laughed when he complained. Clasped his arm with a warm look before he'd gone, smiled.  _Remember to practice_.

He’d forgotten at times. Other times, it just hurt to be reminded. 

A wave of shame burned in his spark as he meandered towards the window. While Rodimus had been sulking in his office, entertaining elaborate rescues---imagining phantom sensations of careful, graceful arms, servos that had helped him grasp a sword and turn it towards the stars---Ratchet had simply gone out and found Drift for him. And he was still _sulking_.

Primus, he hated that word. Stupid. This, right here, what he was doing right now. Back, and forth.

 _DEE DEE DEE!_  

Rodimus knew what he should’ve been doing. He should've been feeling grateful they were back, and he was. Should've been burning rubber towards the shuttlebay by now, privately thanking Ratchet, updating the both of them on progress, progress that he---the Lost Light had made. Saved the world. Banged a gong. Can't make this slag up. The works. Welcoming them back. Letting them know that they’d been missed.

Telling Drift he was sorry.

Back and forth. Primus, Drift was _back_.

His pedes reached the window where the sword had fallen, a bright line of reflected starlight.

  _DEE DEE DEE._ _BZZSHEE_.

 < _This is co-captain Megatron, calling R---co-captain Rodimus to report to the shuttle bay immediately, please. This is the last please, > _Megatron’s voice sighed over the intercom. _ <We have some company._>

 

Drift was formally pardoned from his banishment by Rodimus in front of the crew of the Lost Light, looking hunted and unnerved by Megatron’s presence on the bridge. To Drift’s credit, they didn’t question it; they merely glanced at Ratchet---who nodded---before inclining their head, an odd shine in their optics as the crowd started cheering.

Before he could raise his hand though, Drift had folded Rodimus’ fingers back over the thing he'd kept locked safe in his office desk, all those decacycles ago. Covered it up with a handshake and a smile before letting go.

 

Later, Rodimus was back in his office, Drift leaning against his door.

“You didn’t take it.”

“I didn’t choose to come back to be an Autobot,” Drift replied lowly.

Rodimus didn't notice Drift had approached the window until black fingers closed over his, pulling his servo to the red smear on their chassis. Rodimus looked up to twinkling blue optics, felt his cooling fans turn on with a soft click.

“Please,” he started, then amended. “I need to--”

Drift leaned over and kissed him.

Several minutes later, Rodimus broke off, indignant. “Not that that wasn’t _totally awesome_ , but you didn’t hear what I was going to say,” he protested.

Drift laughed, a little self-consciously. “I’ve made a few mistakes. Trust me, I know what you were going to say.” A pale arm reached to the side, picking up something out of Rodimus' sight. “It was my choice, and I chose you."

It took a dazed moment before Rodimus recognized the black handle placed in his hand. “Tried practicing on my own,” he swallowed. “Didn’t work too good.”

“We can practice together, then.”

Drift’s fingers curled over his, raised the sword with him. 

Soft static whispered in Rodimus’ audial receptor as they twisted, parried starlight.

 


End file.
